


change of heart

by chiarascura



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 04:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8188826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiarascura/pseuds/chiarascura
Summary: Warden Commander Rhian Cousland must marry Nathaniel Howe, and neither of them like it. Yet.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashtopop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashtopop/gifts).



> for ashto and the black emporium gift exchange! your prompt hit all my buttons (rivals to lovers, arranged marriage, sharing a bed!! -heavy breathing-) and i couldn't not write it. i hope you enjoy!
> 
> thanks to rachel4revenge, carverly and earlgreyer for your endless support, i'd never write a thing without yall <3

Rhian crumpled the parchment in her fist, the dry crunch satisfying her simmering anger, and slammed it onto her desk. This would not do. The Queen asked far too much.  
  
“Warden-Commander?” Her steward knocked twice before entering her office, bustling around to lay more papers before her and pick up the letters to be sent.   
  
“Keren, would you send in Howe, please?” Rhian leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes, heard an affirmative before the door closed with a quiet _snick_.  
  
Maybe she could write to the King, and he’d listen to her appeal. They had been friends before, traveling across Ferelden as the last two Wardens, and she thinks she could convince him to stay Anora’s hand. Rhian wanted to work for the good of the realm, but selling her off into marriage was more than she could bear. Alistair would understand, having been a pawn of Arl Eamon and the Chantry himself. There’s no way he would let her fall to the same fate. Rhian pulled a blank piece of parchment towards her and prepared her plea.  
  
She had almost finished the letter when someone knocked on her door. She set down her quill and took a deep breath, preparing for the oncoming confrontation. She called out for them to enter, and braced herself.  
  
“Warden-Commander,” Howe said as he stood just inside the doorway, as reluctant to be there as Rhian was to talk to him. He stood at attention, stony faced and straight backed, eyes focused somewhere to the left of her.   
  
She set the parchment aside and folded her hands together on her desk, staring at her fingers for a long moment before meeting his eyes. “Howe. I understand you’re feeling better?”  
  
A muscle in his cheek jumped, but he remained expressionless, an improvement over the scowl he’d sported every time they met. His Joining had gone well and she’d heard reports of him training with the other recruits. “Sure.”  
  
Rhian sighed and leaned back in her chair. He wouldn’t make this easy on her. Might as well get right to it. “I’ve had a letter from Queen Anora. She has instructed us to marry.”  
  
Howe’s face shifted into pure shock, jaw working wordlessly and eyes widening. “She what? She can’t do that!”  
  
“She’s the Queen, she can do as she likes. Apparently,” Rhian lifted Anora’s letter to read directly from it, “ _stability relies on its people being able to trust the leaders hereditary lines’ going forward. As you are the Arlessa of Amaranthine and heir to Highever, and he is the former heir to Amaranthine, we think it best for you to join your respective lines as a promise to your people._ ”  
  
There was more Rhian didn’t read, including Anora’s admonition of her recruiting tactics and galloping across all of northern Ferelden in search of a talking darkspawn, but that mattered less. She set the letter back down and watched Howe steadily.  
  
“This can’t be,” he muttered. His fists clenched at his sides, shoulders hitched high and tense.   
  
“You want this no more than I do, and I’m making arrangements to have it undone. Until then,” Rhian sighed wearily. “We are at her leisure.”   
  
“You can’t think that I’d marry the woman who killed my father?” Howe all but spat the words at her, and Rhian felt her temper rising. His resentment twisted his face into an ugly thing, so different from the handsome if surly boy she once knew. “You, who stole everything from me?”   
  
She clenched her jaw, and counted her breaths, an exercise her father had taught her to keep her temper in check. She measured her words before speaking. “Excuse me? I _stole_ nothing from you. Your father—“  
  
“You killed my father!”   
  
“I’m not the one who made him join Loghain in his coup, or murder my parents in our own home, or any of the other terrible things he did. Those were his own choices. If you want to follow in his footsteps, so be it.”   
  
His dark eyes burned with bright rage, and she waved a hand to cut off whatever insulting thing he would come up with next.   
  
Howe kept talking right over her. “I didn’t even want to be here, all I wanted was to take back some of _my family’s_ things, the family who kept Ferelden safe during Maric’s rebellion, and here you are. Acting high and mighty, conscripting me against my will like a tyrant—“  
  
“Enough.” She took a deep breath and stood. Howe seemed to realize he was talking back to a superior officer, and his shoulders straightened, eyes lowered. The sneer on his face kept it from being a truly deferential pose, but Rhian could only hope for so much. “You will keep this quiet for now—“  
  
He snorted. “Like I’d want to tell anyone.”  
  
Her cold glare made his jaw snap shut and she tried to rein in the rising anger in her belly. “You’ll keep this quiet, and I’ll make arrangements to have it set aside. Until then, this is what Anora expects. Dismissed.”  
  
She sat and picked up a quill, finishing her letter to Alistair without acknowledging Howe again. She heard him leave without shutting the door behind him, and she let out a heavy breath.  
  
  
——   
  
“Delilah?”  
  
Rhian remained a few paces behind, lingering with her other companions as Howe greeted his sister for the first time in a decade. Delilah looked good: her skin glowed with contentment, her smile brightened her whole demeanor, her hands fluttered excitedly over her brother’s shoulders and arms as if to convince her that he was truly real. Dealing with the pain in the ass archer was worth seeing this.  
  
During the whole trip to Amaranthine, Howe had complained about _everything_. Her tactics in a darkspawn blockade along the road. Her tendency to stop and speak to villagers on their way, making sure they were safe or sending them to Vigil’s Keep. Her fighting style, even though she was a warrior and the archer had no place talking to her about how to hold her blade.   
  
With each new complaint, Rhian gritted her teeth and kept moving forward, determined not to let the whining get to her.   
  
The reunited siblings embraced, held each other like a lifeline, and bent their heads together to speak quietly. Rhian turned away, giving them a bit of privacy, only to find Sigrun staring at them and Anders smirking at her.   
  
She narrowed her eyes. “What?”  
  
“Awfully kind of you to reunite them like that, especially, you know. Because of the _blood feud_.”  
  
Sigrun snickered. “For enemies, you sure are accommodating for his family.”  
  
Rhian sighed long-sufferingly. “I’ve known Delilah practically my whole life. Noble children spend a lot of time together, especially when you’re at court.”  
  
Anders hummed knowingly.  
  
She glanced back at the siblings and thought of happier times, when King Maric kept a peaceful and jolly court. When it was in session and their parents needed to be in Denerim, the girls spent as much time together as they could, reading or stitching or running around the grounds taking turns playing Queen Moira fighting the evil Orlesians.   
  
Rhian couldn’t remember meeting young Nathaniel, but she’d always known him. As the eldest son and heir to his father’s seat, he’d been a serious young man, and much too _mature_ to play with his sister and her friends. Rhian had delighted in teasing him, doing whatever it took to get a rise out of the sober boy.   
  
Once, when she and Delilah were 7 and 8 and Howe closer to 13, they had tricked him into thinking he would be knighted that day. He had puffed up and practically disowned Delilah for being too rambunctious, because now that he would be a _knight_ he couldn’t be seen spending time with silly girls. It took everything in her to keep from laughing in his face, and the payoff when he bragged to some of the older knights had been worth it.   
  
Delilah called her name, interrupting Rhian from her memories. She found both Howe siblings looking at her, one bright and excited, the other scowling as usual. “Rhian! Oh Maker, is that really you?”  
  
Rhian couldn’t help the grin that overcame her, and she hugged Delilah close. “I’m so glad to hear you’re safe, Dee.”   
  
Delilah pulled back with tears in her eyes. “Both of you, here with me and safe from the Blight, it’s beyond my wildest dreams!”   
  
Howe shifted on his feet. “I didn’t realize you two were so close.”  
  
Delilah nodded vigorously, clasping Rhian’s right hand between both of hers. “We were, we truly were. Rhian was like a sister to me, and I’d always hoped—“ Delilah glanced between the both of them before changing the subject. “After you left, Father pulled us from court and started plotting his evil against the Couslands, and it broke my heart.” She looked into Rhian’s eyes with solemnity. “I am so sorry to hear what he did to you, Rhi.”   
  
Howe’s head whipped around. “What is that supposed to mean? He was just caught up in politics and they got in the middle of it.” Rhian gritted her teeth and turned her head away from Howe, unwilling to let him see the pain that came with the thought of her family’s death. She tried to recall the embarrassed look on young Nathaniel’s face when he came slinking back with his tail between his legs after the girls’ prank, but all she could see was Howe sneering at her below the Keep and dismissing her family’s hardships.  
  
“He was an evil man, Nathaniel,” Delilah said, eyes growing serious. “He destroyed our family, the Couslands, and so many others. You weren’t here for it, but it was terrible.”  
  
Howe was silent, eyes focused far away. Even as a child, Howe had worshipped his father like he was the Maker, like he had put the stars in the sky and a sword through all evil. Delilah and Rhian had teased him for it then, but seeing how the news of Rendon’s betrayal affected Nathaniel, it just seemed sad.   
  
Rhian dipped her head and squeezed her hand, feeling Howe’s eyes on the side of her face like a brand. “Thank you for your kind words, Delilah. I’m glad to hear you got out from under his thumb. What are you doing here in Amaranthine?”   
  
Delilah took one hand to rub over her belly, a minute swell visible under her skirt. “My husband Albert is a woodworker and we’ve started a family.”  
  
Her announcement surprised a laugh out of Rhian. “Congratulations!” She hugged Delilah close and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’m so happy for you.”   
  
Delilah beamed back at her. “Would you both like to come and catch up? Our home is not far from here.” Howe scoffed and crossed his arms, hostility coming off him in waves.   
  
Rhian shook her head but smiled. “I think your brother would like some time with you.” She squeezed Delilah’s hand one last time. “If you ever want to visit Vigil’s Keep, you are always welcome.”  
  
Delilah grinned before turning back to her brother. “I still can’t believe you’re here,” she said, and Rhian departed before Howe could get another word in.   
  
  
——   
  
Rhian straightened her shoulders and stared down her nose at the innkeeper. Her mother had the most intimidating stare, managed to get things to go her way with just a glance and a word for most of Rhian’s childhood, and she tried to channel that same self confidence and intimidation.   
  
Unfortunately, it didn’t work. The innkeeper crossed his arms. “Ain’t but one room left, Warden. Can’t change that, ‘less you’d sleep in the barn.”   
  
Rhian clenched her teeth to keep from railing at him. It wasn’t his fault, and they both knew that, but knowing what the alternative was for the night… “Fine. We’ll take it. Fresh linens and a hot meal for my companions, if you would.” She dropped a few coins on the bar top and turned to where the others sat. Howe looked worse, the gash in his side bleeding weakly and his face pale. Anders stood over him to check on the nasty wound, and Oghren leaned against the other end of the bar, trying to charm a maid who smiled indulgently.   
  
Rhian made her way back to Howe and lifted one of his arms over her shoulders, hoisting him up with Anders on the other side. “Come on, Howe. Let’s get you to bed.” His head lolled on his shoulders and he mumbled something unintelligible. Even if he was heavy, it was a welcome weight as it confirmed he still lived. The sight of him bleeding out on the battlefield replayed in her memory, and Rhian pushed down the grief and fear that threatened her.   
  
They followed the innkeeper to their single room, Howe between them grunting in pain. She set him on the bed as gently as she could, but she could feel him wince anyway.   
  
As Anders moved to try and re-wrap his wound, Rhian began removing the bulkier parts of her armor for the evening. She kept a dagger on her belt, leaving the rest of her weapons and armor with the other supplies for ease of movement through the old inn. She moved back to the bed, looking down at where Anders’ hands glowed blue over Howe’s side.   
  
“How does it look?” she asked. Her eyes darted up to Howe’s face, ashen and waxy, eyes closed and mouth pursed in pain.   
  
Anders sighed and rose, gesturing with his head to the door. Rhian followed him into the hall,  sending one look back at Howe before shutting the door. Howe hadn’t moved, except that his head now faced the doorway and his eyes were half-open, glassy but fixed on Rhian.   
  
Rhian tried to listen as Anders gave her details about Howe’s condition, but she the look he gave her stuck in her mind like a burr in her shoe. Even all through dinner in the common room, her mind kept circling around the sight of Howe bleeding out on the battlefield and the weight of him on her shoulder and the unreadable look just before they left him.   
  
“Soooo,” Anders said, looking at her out of the side of his eye.   
  
Rhian glanced up from where she had been staring into her bowl of stew. “What.”   
  
“Just put a sock on the door, when you go back up.”   
  
Rhian furrowed her brow. “What are you talking about? Why would I do that?”  
  
“When you’re _tending_ to his _wounds_ , after this.” Anders smirked and wiggled his eyebrows. “No doubt you’ll take his dinner up and make sure he’s eating properly. Because that’s what _fiancees_ do, right?”  
  
Rhian scowled and stared into her bowl. “It’s not like that,” she muttered. It’s true, when Howe had been flanked by a Hurlock earlier that day, she had panicked. She had abandoned the two genlocks she had engaged to fling herself at Howe, cutting down his enemy in record time. The panic had lasted until after the battle when Anders pronounced him likely to live.   
  
She squinted at him. “You’re not supposed to know about that. Who told you?”  
  
Anders raised his eyebrows innocently. “I wasn’t aware it would be a secret, _Lady Howe_.”  
  
The name sent a shiver down her spine, but she couldn’t identify if it was horror or— something else. “That’s still Warden-Commander to you,” she said, pointing her spoon at him threateningly.   
  
She knew Anora’s directive hadn’t been a secret for long, but she’d hoped it would remain so until she could find a way out of it. Every day she waited for a letter from Alistair to free her, but somehow the excited anticipation felt heavy in her chest.   
  
— —   
  
  
She knocked twice on the door before opening it. The room looked even smaller now than it had before, knowing the expectations Anders and Oghren had for them. She shook the image from her head, not wanting to think about consoling Howe with gentle touches or anything remotely romantic.   
  
Howe blinked sleepily at her, and pushed himself into a half-sitting position with a wince. She set the bowl of stew on the bedside table for him. “Dinner,” she said.   
  
He grunted in acknowledgement and reached for the bowl, but he hissed in pain as he twisted, not quite making it to the bowl. She felt a pang of sympathy, knowing how much he hated to show weakness in front of her— in front of anyone, truly. She tapped one of his legs, scooting them over to sit on the bed facing him.  
  
“Let me help you,” she said, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes. She held the bowl carefully as he fed himself, neither looking at each other or speaking overmuch. His hand trembled each time he brought the spoon to his mouth, and Rhian found her eyes lingering on the way his lips pursed to drink the broth, or his tongue darted out to catch a wayward drop that glistened—  
  
She looked away, tried to gauge how the room would look with three extra bedrolls on the floor.   
  
After Howe finished the dinner, he leaned back onto the headboard and shut his eyes, breathing deeply like just the act of eating exhausted him.   
  
“Are you feeling better?” she ventured.  
  
His hand moved to rub his side, near where the darkspawn had struck him down, and he exhaled. “Some. Not much.” His voice was gravelly and weak, and a sharp stab of sympathy went through her at the sound.   
  
Rhian moved around the room, rearranging the supplies in her pack and refolding her clothes, trying to keep herself busy. She should go down and sit with Anders and Oghren, she should let Howe sleep a bit, but something kept her. The air felt tense, charged like early winter when everything risked sparking at the slightest touch.   
  
She rummaged through her pack making a mental checklist of inventory, until she came across the extra weapons she held onto. She remembered seeing Howe’s bow snapped in half, recalled the decision to leave the broken thing behind while they tried to find shelter to help heal him. Luckily for him, they hadn’t come to a true trading post yet and she still had an extra bow.   
  
She pulled it from her pack, dimly recalled finding it in Vigil’s Keep, keeping it for an emergency like this one. “Your bow broke back there, yes?”  
  
Howe’s eyes remained shut but he responded with a long sigh. “That was one of my favorites. Kept it with me all the way from the Free Marches, and now it’s gone.”   
  
Rhian sat beside him again, and pressed the new one into his hands. “Here’s another. For when you heal up.”  
  
His eyes opened only a fraction, then after a moment they widened in shock. His upper body jerked, as he tried to sit up before he remembered the wound keeping him prone. He hissed in pain, and Rhian moved to help him slide up onto the pillows as he stared at the bow.   
  
He was silent for a moment too long. “What’s wrong with it?”  
  
His throat worked as he swallowed. “This… this is my grandfather’s bow.”  
  
Rhian blinked at him. “The one who joined the order? Truly?”  
  
Howe nodded, still dazed. “Where did you get this?” He rubbed his finger over a design carved into the wood just above the handle. “This is the Howe crest, right here.” He held it up so she could see a bear against a shield, the eye set with a tiny yellow gem.   
  
He looked up and met her eyes, and Rhian felt a warmth growing in her chest.   
  
“Thank you,” he said, almost out of breath. “This means so much to me.”  
  
Rhian licked her lips, her mouth suddenly desperately dry. “Of course. I would have given it to you earlier had I known.”  
  
The corner of his mouth quirked upward, the ghost of a smile looking unfamiliar to her. “Because I’ve given you so many opportunities to ask.”  
  
His unexpected self-deprecation surprised a laugh out of her. “I suppose I haven’t been much interested, either.” She hesitated. “Will you tell me about him?”  
  
His mouth opened, then closed wordlessly. He looked down at his bow, and Rhian worried for a moment that she crossed a line, that he didn’t really want to talk to her but since he was wounded and she was his Commander, and—  
  
“His name was Padric, and I looked up to him so much.”  
  
An hour later found them sharing stories of their childhood, the same event seen through different lenses. Rhian had stretched out on the other side of the bed and Nathaniel had relaxed enough to lay back and stare at the ceiling as they talked.   
  
The candle nearest to them flickered as it began to gutter out, and Rhian lifted her head.   
  
A knock on the door startled them both, and Rhian moved quickly off the bed as Anders entered as loudly as he could. Rhian ran a hand over her hair, knowing it was mussed a bit from her position on the bed, but she knew Anders would see the worst in it.   
  
True to form, Anders narrowed his eyes. “Well, well, well, it seems I’m interrupting. I can leave if—“  
  
Rhian and Nathaniel shouted “No!” at the same time, which made Anders only laugh.   
  
He started unpacking his bedroll, laying it out on the floor beside them. “Commander, with mine and Oghren’s bedrolls on the floor, it looks like there’s not enough space for yours.”  
  
Rhian rolled her eyes. “I don’t think that’s—“  
  
“You’re the Warden-Commander, Commander,” he said over her. “Your rank says you shouldn’t be sleeping on the _floor_ with us _recruits_. The bed looks big enough for you and Nate to share.”  
  
Rhian gritted her teeth and inexplicably felt her face heat. “Anders, that’s not—“  
  
“I should sleep on the floor, then,” Nathaniel said.   
  
“No, no, you’re wounded. You need the bed. You can both share, right? You’re just _buddies_ , just _fellow Wardens_ , right?”  
  
Rhian had to admit, sleeping on the floor was not an appealing prospect. Especially not beside Oghren whenever he came in, sleeping closer to the epicenter of his snoring would keep her awake all night. The bed felt so soft beneath her when she and Nathaniel had been talking. If it was like camping, sharing a tent was basically the same, so…  
  
Nathaniel wouldn’t meet her eyes when she looked over at him. He squirmed as much as his bandages would let him, and mumbled under his breath.  
  
“Then it’s settled,” Anders decided with a clap of his hands. “I’ll just go see where our lovely dwarf is, make sure he’s not getting into too much trouble, and you can just get ready for bed.” He backed out of the door as he spoke, throwing Rhian a wink just before it shut behind him.   
  
The room felt unbearably quiet. Rhian squared her shoulders and moved to find her sleep clothes from her pack. They were just two soldiers, sharing quarters because the situation required it. Nothing more. She turned her back to him as she pulled off the rest of her armor, slipping the softer clothes on as quickly as she could.   
  
Moving back to the bed, Nathaniel had one arm thrown across his face and the other restlessly tapped fingers against his belly.   
  
“Are you okay with this?” He was so tense that she had to ask.   
  
“What?” He lifted his arm to look at her, and he kept his eyes strictly on her face. “Fine. ‘M fine. Just, don’t kick me.”  
  
She snorted and turned the covers back, climbing in beside him. “Same goes for you, too.”  
  
Her fingers moved deftly through her hair, untangling the length as best she could before putting it in a rudimentary plait.   
  
She sat up in the bed with her elbows on her knees, watching Anders and Oghren move around as they came back. Planning for the next day, deciding where to stop and find extra healing potions, talking like nothing was different, like they were just camping as usual. Because it wasn’t different. Eventually, Anders blew out the last candle.  
  
Rhian closed her eyes and counted her breaths. Tried to focus on anything besides the warm body beside her, the way the bed smelled a bit like him already, like skin and dried bark and tough leather. She turned onto her side to face the wall, keeping Howe to her back, and the bed dipped as he shifted.   
  
Oghren’s first snore ripped through the room, and she heard a thump as Anders kicked him. Her eyes opened and she stared at the drab wall, steadily not thinking about the person in the bed beside her.   
  
Somehow she fell asleep, and woke up in the darkness, still in that hazy place between the fade and wakefulness. Another body was warm against her back, an arm curled under her neck and pressed against her chest. She nuzzled into it without thought, and heard a sigh close to her ear. She drifted back to sleep, warm and content.  
  
  
  
——   
  
The letter from Alistair did not bring her as much pleasure as she expected. She tapped her fingers on her desktop as she re-read it. He did as she asked, and invalidated his wife’s demand. He even supported a different match for her, one he thought would be much more amenable, mostly because that man hadn’t threatened her life, and he had even supported her during the Landsmeet.   
  
So why wasn’t she happy? Rhian should be doing cartwheels around her office, and instead she felt a thick anxiety creeping from her belly and into her throat.  
  
She set the letter down on her desk and leaned back in her chair. She could dissolve this farce of an engagement and focus on the darkspawn, which was her true goal. She didn’t need to worry about Nathaniel stabbing her in the back in their marriage bed, or pledging loyalty to him in their wedding vows, or seeing him every day for the rest of their lives as forced allies. Maker, she could send him away to work under another unit if she so chose. She expected… something different.   
  
And like her thoughts had summoned him, Nathaniel appeared in the doorway of her office. The dread settled in her chest lifted at the sight of him, and she couldn’t say why.   
  
“I heard you received a letter from Denerim.”   
  
She smirked and ran her fingers over the King’s signature. “I don’t know why I expected any different. Word travels faster around here when it’s supposed to be a secret than when it’s actual news.”  
  
Nathaniel dropped into the seat opposite her desk, relaxing in her presence for once. “Is it about our wedding? Has Anora set a date for us, or demanded anything else? I can’t imagine we’d be allowed to plan a damn thing about it.”  
  
Rhian licked her lips and shifted in her seat. “Actually, no. I asked Alistair to undo it, and he has. The benefits of raising a man to be King, I suppose.”  
  
She looked up, expecting Nathaniel’s excitement like she had her own, and once again found it lacking. His shoulders were tense and his brow furrowed. “He what? He just dissolved it against the Queen’s wishes?”  
  
Rhian shrugged, as if she couldn’t care one way or the other. “I suppose so.” She wanted to tell him how relieved she felt, confirm that he felt the same, but the words wouldn’t come.   
  
“Well,” was all he said.   
  
The moment stretched between them, and Rhian tapped her fingers on the letter. “Well, now you’re free to go off with Anders and find willing people to be with, no longer tied down to anyone, if you so choose. I know he’ll be ecstatic to have a second.”  
  
Nathaniel nodded and his knee began to bounce. “You can too, I guess. Must be a line of people waiting to charm the Warden Commander of Fereldan.”  
  
Rhian looked back at the paper under her hand. “No, that won’t be happening. Alistair proposed a different match, one that he thinks I’ll like a bit more. Considering that he actually knows me, whereas Anora just used me for political points, I trust his judgment. It could work.”  
  
Nathaniel made a choking noise, then coughed into his hand. Rhian sat up and reached out, like she could do anything, but he waved her off. He folded his arms across his chest and looked at the floor, chin almost touching his collarbones. “Who’s the lucky bridegroom, then?”  
  
She licked her lips. “Leonas Bryland, Arl of South Reach.”  
  
Nathaniel shoved himself out of his chair. “My uncle! He really— You and— It can’t be!” He punctuated his choppy words with pacing across her office, and the tension in him made Rhian’s hackles rise.  
  
She felt her face grow warm. “I’ve met him before, and he seems quite nice. I can think of worse men, and if—“  
  
“You can’t marry him.” Nathaniel stopped and folded his arms across his chest, his jaw set. “You can’t.”  
  
“Why not? He seems perfectly amenable, and he’s a widower.” Rhian knew some of the history of his family, having been a confidant of Delilah for so many years. Lady Howe had been Leonas’ sister, but his falling out with Rendon Howe after the rebellion had put the families at odds for most of their lives. Rhian had met the man just before the Landsmeet, and he seemed kind enough. She wondered if Nathaniel had something against the man, or if it was leftover animosity from his father’s legacy.  
  
“You just—“ Nathaniel turned away from her, and Rhian’s belly twisted. “He’s not right for you.”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”   
  
“You’re—“ He gestured futilely, still looking anywhere but at her. All of the things he said to her over the past months came back. Murderer, thief, ruiner of lives. It hurt more than she anticipated.  
  
She narrowed her eyes and mirrored his pose, standing and folding her arms, weight rested on one hip. “I’m what? Is it something specific? Or just that I’m a killer who stole your family’s legacy? I thought—“ Her voice cracked, so she stopped and swallowed through the knot in her throat. She tried to recall the calming practices she’d learned from her father, tried to temper her rage, but it boiled up through her without abatement. “You don’t get to tell me these things. You have shown no respect for me or my position since you’ve been here, and I’m sick of it. You’ve acted spoiled and rude and it ends now. I’m sorry if you think I’m not good enough for your uncle but—“  
  
“I love you,” Nathaniel blurted out, eyes caught somewhere above her left shoulder. “I don’t want you to marry him. You’re too good for him.”  
  
Rhian’s arms dropped to her sides, and the fight that built in her suddenly disappeared. “You… you love me.” The room felt too small, and she couldn’t get enough air in her lungs. She must have misheard.   
  
Now, Nathaniel squirmed, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, and his hands twisted around each other.   
  
“You love me?” She couldn’t help the incredulous noise that burst from her. “After all those terrible things you said to me when you broke in here, and everything since? Really?” It was hard to believe, this sudden change of heart after all the aggravation he’d given her.   
  
Nathaniel ducked his head and his hands clenched into fists. “I was a fool, blinded by loyalty to my father who does not— did not deserve it. If anyone does, you deserve my loyalty. You’ve been a good leader, ready to help anyone who needs it. You’re fearless and kind and everything I thought you weren’t. I… if you truly wish to marry my uncle, or whoever else, I will not stop you. But I must tell you how I feel. I want the chance to woo you, to show you who I really am.”  
  
Rhian felt stunned, like she’d been struck by a pommel instead of just words. She blinked at him for a moment, and watched his determination slide slowly into anxiety.   
  
He loved her. And, she soon realized, she loved him too. He’d stuck with her through her rough introduction to being Warden Commander, followed her through the Blackmarsh and the Architect, and he wanted to be with her. The dread that had lodged itself inside her at reading Alistair’s letter slowly dissipated, every moment feeling lighter, like she drank a bottle of bubbly Orlesian wine all by herself.  
  
She stood and walked around the desk, and he tensed as if preparing for a fight. Rhian took one of his hands into both her own, and she lifted it to her lips. Her eyes met his as she kissed his knuckles, and his face softened.   
  
“Nathaniel,” she whispered, “I had no idea.” His eyebrows peaked in the middle, worry setting a little line between them. “This seems so… sudden. I thought you would be ecstatic to get out of this arrangement, and now you love me. Why?”  
  
He shifted on his feet. “When you gave me my grandfather’s bow, you didn’t have to do that. You could have sold it and I’d never have known, but you kept it. And you asked about him. Delilah likes you, so that counts for something.” She smiled and the worry in his brow lifted. “I know I’ve been rude, but I’d like the chance to make it up to you. If you’d have me, and not my uncle.”  
  
Rhian nodded and laced their fingers together. A grin split his face, and she realized this was the first time he’d truly smiled at her. She could get used to seeing that smile more often.  



End file.
